When I hurt my back 2 years ago, I stopped lifting things.
Because lifting things would send a shooting pain down my back and
lay me out flat and have me calling out on the name of Jesus.
Scott has been the go to guy for all heavy lifting.
My back has stopped hurting now. (Thank you, Jesus!)
But the telltale signs of 2 non-lifting years are all there.
My arms tells the sad, flabby tale of a back injury.
I used to have some nice mommy arms.
The kind of arms that are ever moving, holding small people,
picking up large baskets of laundry and lugging bags of potting soil to the back yard.
Gone are the firm arm muscles that I scored lifting large children for years.
In their place are some well rounded, soft and pliable arms.
Sad arms. Squishy arms. Granny arms.
When I go to wave at someone,
there is a gentle slope of skin that droops from the bottom of
my underarm to the top of my elbow.
And it continues to wave long after I have finished.
Addison told me yesterday as he squeezed my arm,
"Mom, I love your chubby arms."
He is the only one who does.
And so I am embarking on a new arm regimen.
I have toning exercises that are going to help me.....
I may even try a push up or two.
It's on, folks.
I'm bringing sexy back. Okay, no, I'm not.
I don't actually know where sexy lives so that I could bring it back.
But I'm ready to say good-bye to the grandma arms and to say
hello to some nice muscle tone.
I may even start picking up laundry baskets again.
Just don't tell Scott.